


Parks and Rec

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Camping, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, FBI Agent Reader, First boyfriend, Flirting, Flirting Sam Winchester, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt Sam, Hurt Sam Winchester, Injured Sam, Kissing, Men of Letters Bunker, Oral Sex, Rakshasa, Road Trips, Sam Flirts, Sam is a pretty good first boyfriend, Sex, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Surprise Kissing, Tickle Fights, Tickling, Ticklish Sam, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 13:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 17,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4963030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've worked with the Winchesters before and today you've happened upon the same murder in the forest.  This time, Sam thinks about you a little differently, a little longer, than he ever allowed in the past.  Turns out to be a brilliant idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Green Pyjamas

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi-chapter story with a slow-burn leading up to smut, plus some attempted humour, a hunt, Injured!Sam, and fluff along the way. 
> 
> Had an itch for a Sam thing, but Dean gets a bit of spotlight too. Hope you like!
> 
> Cross-posted from my tumblr account: littlegreenplasticsoldier.tumblr.com

_OK, Y/N – I mean, Agent Bruckhour – pep talk time. Work it, walk it, you can pull this off, it doesn’t matter how long it’s been, just be direct. No, be tired. Just stop caring and use it like tired coz any FBI agent would be hella over having to hike out to Where-Car-Deodoriser-are-Scented, Wyoming, and ruin their shoes in a land without asphalt._

Through the door and at the desk you recognise the rank of the man in front of you and open with “G'Morning. I’m sorry, officer, but I need someone higher.”

“How much higher?” he says with an eyebrow, and no good morning.

_Sass already? Fuck this._

“Is God in today?” you ask sweetly.

“Matter of fact he is,” he replies and saunters off slowly enough for you to feel the earth turn. _Fucker_.

The Captain arrives, carrying a fair bit more respect about him and you flash your badge and pleasant teeth. “Captain, I’m Agent Bruckhour.”

“Captain Jeffers. I assume you’re here about the animal attacks. Only strange deaths we’ve had in months.”

“Yeah, sounds grim.”

“Sure is. Haven’t got much to show you besides a rained-out crime scene though. The family had the few remains cremated already, but we have a lot on file.”

“Excellent,” you nod.

He smiles at you. You smile back. “I’ll need the file, Captain.”

“Really? The FBI cares about this case?” he wonders aloud. “Little old hokey us get to have our very own FBI investigation?”

“Captain Jeffers, if I’m not allowed to say no, it’s hardly like you’re allowed to ask why,” you reply. “Should I wait here or dig for the documents myself?”

“Aaah,” he waves it off, “they’re on Finlay’s desk.” He ushers you past the front desk to one a few yards away, taps the file and walks away without a second thought. Just the way you like it.

Thankfully the file was in order and the photography adequate, but if that was all so easy surely something else must go wrong…

“Mornin’ Officer. Who’s the man in charge round here?” You’d know that honeyed tone anywhere.

You look up and see the God Damned Winchesters in National Parks Service Ranger outfits. _Fuuuck_.

Dean, the older and slightly shorter man at a modest 6ft-something, spies you in your suit. He takes a good 3 seconds to look you over, thinking of the several jobs you’ve worked together and the strict cotton/leather ensemble you usually sport. Instantly, everything about him drips of cheek. He practically wags his tail with it.

A quick glance at Sam is enough to twitch the slightest of clandestine greetings.

“What brings you to the area?” the officer asks.

“You had an animal attack over the weekend, which left very little, and we’re checking it against a similar one in Idaho. We’d like to see the file, if your superior is okay with that.”

“Well, seems you’d need to talk to my superior’s superior,” he thumbs at you over his shoulder. “FBI’s already on it.”

He opens the swinging gate for them and they stroll over. You frown and scowl, working everything you have to not smile as you greet each other with your fake names. The officer manning the reception seems to also use this desk, so appearances need to be maintained while he sits so close.

“Well, ma'am,” Dean emphasises, “I believe the National Parks Service should have jurisdiction over this one, being in a park and all. We do have federal level law enforcement powers, you realise.”

“Yeah, it’s exciting,” you say flatly. “What’s the forest got to do with it? You think we hand over all the car shootings to the DMV?”

“Wa-” he starts, wavering a little.

“There’s a reason why they don’t bother putting the word Federal in your title.”

“Hey, the NPS is frikken keepin’ you alive!”

You glare at him from under your eyebrows and flick one of them, almost forgetting about you’re playing dress-up for the job. As uncomfortable as you are with lying about federal representation, you still fake outrank him. “With your trees,” you clarify.

“Yeah!”

You decide to let that one go. Sam’s looking at his shoes. “So what do you guys have on the case so far?” you sigh.

“Well-”

“Anything?” you press.

“Yes,” Dean snaps sourly.

“Good, I’ll need those documents too.” Dean pauses, just a moment too long unfortunately, coz shit you are on a roll. “Files? Papers? Photography? Statements? Everything you have.”

He looks at you and for a moment you think he’s sending you a mental message like _We don’t have to do the whole thing for real, Y/N._

But you don’t care, because _you still fake outrank Dean Winchester._

For like another 15 minutes, but whatever. “Please tell me you have some sort of file going?” you sigh, closing the folder and giving him your best exasperated stare.

“It’s all up here, sweetheart,” he taps his temple.

“Oh, brilliant,” you reply and pull a USB stick from your pocket. “Blow on this would you?”

Sam bites on his lip and scoffs. Dean’s eyes flash at you, dimples suppressed, and he’s completely entertained at your sassy authority.

“Well, I’m trusting your pack leader actually okay’d all those badges on your overalls. Is one of them an Office Skills award? Think you could get that stuff to me by close of business?”

Dean’s head is twitching, his lips fighting to stay calm, cheeks pink with the effort of not laughing. It’s not that you’re funny, although you are, he’s just too stunned to function.

You give up on him replying. “Okay, Finlay, I’m going to be back around 2:30. Scan the file onto this for me, please.” You put the USB in front of the young officer. “I’m going to walk in at 2:30 and walk out at 2:31, with the complete file on that stick, yes?”

“Yes,” he winces, pissy to be taking the order from you.

“I’m willing to stretch it out to 2:40 if I have to kick your ass.” You lay him with a cold, firm stare, something Sam and Dean have witnessed before, and you’re confident the kid gets that he doesn’t know you well enough to test it.

Outside, reading notes on the hood of your car, you presume the sound of steps on gravel is them.

“Y/N,” Dean slides his greeting over your shoulder as he leans to your right. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“You fuckers,” you groan. “Green pyjamas and all.”

“Why were you so shy about suiting up in Milwaukee?” Sam asks.

“I dunno,” you shrug, “It’s a pretty big lie.” You look at him and shrug, “It’s just always an arm wrestle with the boys and badges and I can’t be bothered trying sexy so, yeah, I tend to skip the cases that need the parade. I’m no good as coercing guys with my ‘assets’, or whatever.”

“Only coz you never try,” Dean says, leaning sideways to look at you. “And you wouldn’t need to try very hard.”

You roll your eyes and change the subject. “You guys at The Imperial?”

“Yep,” Sam replies. “Room 14. Meet you there?”

“Sounds good,” you agree, and force Dean aside as you open your door. “You better have some pretty drawings for me when I get there.”

“I’ll sharpen my Crayolas,” he smirks, and they head off to that gorgeous Impala.


	2. Serious Research

“Okay, so I figure either a Rugaru who’s lost it, or a Rakshasa,” you announce to the boys, burger done, a beer open and still in your suit for the motel room lunch. “Though I don’t know what one would be doing all the way out here.”

“Rakshasa is the closest match,” Sam agrees, “and we’ve met one in Nebraska, so it’s not that crazy.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” you smile a little.

“Wait, why would you even know about that?” Dean asks, slumping into the chair across from you and opening his bottle.

“Paperback series,” you say, taking another drink. “Which has also been data-based online.”

“Holy hell,” he rolls his eyes. “Those god-damn books are the bane of our existence.”

“Really? _They’re_ the bane?” you check and Dean gives you a pinched _yeah-yeah_ face.

“I don’t really have long before I have to get back,” you comment. “Have you guys called the park to see if there are many campers about?”

“I’ll get an update while you’re gone,” Sam assured.

“Cool,” you nodded. “Also, I have a brass blade, if we need it.”

“Us too,” Dean replied. “The more the stabbier.”

“Amen,” you say and offer your bottle in a cheers. The conversation slips into catch-ups and fireside stories and before you know it you have to pretend you’re important again and head off.

Finlay isn’t at the police station, but the USB is on the counter, in a named envelope. You trust his absence is for some reason other than running from a hiding coz the USB is goddamn empty.

While you get changed, Sam finds the files are there and ready and you come back to sit by him and read over whatever looks relevant.

“Okay, from this,” he announces, “I think it is a rakshasa, which is good.”

“You prefer stabbing to burning?” Dean asks.

“Well, yes, especially in a forest, but also, because anyone staying in a cabin should be able to stay safe. No entry without invitation,” he explains, “and the one cabin there is booked out, so no one’s going to expect a desperate camper to come knocking.”

“Although, if they do, they’d be considered extra desperate, don’t you think?” you wonder.

“Yeah… well, let’s get the ranger to tell them to turn anyone away,” Sam sighs, “but in the meantime there’re two more groups in the wilderness using camp sites, not including drop-ins.”

“Our victim was a loner. He’s been camping for months,” you share as you read ahead. “…Fuck, he’s practically a nomadic hermit. The only family he had was a sister. Apparently not close. Anyway, point being: he was killed _near_ the middle of nowhere, by a lake, and not even at a camp site, so who knows how dark it was or what was going on.”

“Ah crap,” Dean groans rubbing his hands over his face. “We’re gonna have to go camping.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “Kinda felt that coming.”

“You got some gear?” Sam checks.

“Yeah, brought it all,” you pout, rarely looking forward to getting into nature after mid-autumn. “We should get out there tonight. We could be at the park before dusk.” The brothers groan and reluctantly nod.

“Aw but we’ve already paid for tonight,” whines Dean.

“Dean, come on,” you push, “you know we should-”

“Yeah…” Mope, mope, sulk.

“It’s not even your money,” you add.

“Shaddup, it’s my frozen ass,” he quips.

“Well, according to legend, your ass is hot enough to keep us and the camp fire going. Won’t even need to rub anything together,” you wink at him, then head out to pack your room and rearrange your things for a hike.


	3. Things

Things you did not know about that first day:

1\. This was the first time you’d met Sam and Dean without a proper happy hello.

2\. Your ass looks damn fine in your pants suit, and your panty-line is a little visible on the rise of your cheek. Really sets off the curve.

3\. The glare you gave Finlay earlier that day was very effective. Once you were gone, he got that job done first, and made himself scarce around 2:25pm. Every time you give a man that glare, they respond with a kind of primal caution.

4\. The way you deal with Dean’s flirting is perfect. He’s neither encouraged, misled nor offended.

5\. Sam could’ve angled the laptop towards you a little more, but didn’t. You had to lean across him a bit.

6\. About the previous five points, Sam felt disappointment, distraction, pride, comfort, and unconscious arousal, respectively.

And, most significantly, 7. While he packed for the trip, Sam was unaware of how much he was daydreaming. He was ready first but his mind had been occupied with imagery: you choosing between practical or lacy underwear for the hike; you wrangling on your thermals inside your tent; him walking behind you up steep hills; him holding your hand to help you step stones across streams; what you might look like by fire light; one of the tents maybe becoming damaged and forcing a share; you whispering to him during the night that you couldn’t get warm… that was the tipping point. He shook his head at himself and got on with the task.

 

Things you did know about that first day:

Under threat of scratch and suspension trouble, and with a relatively safe carpark back at the motel, Dean begrudgingly agreed that your 4WD was the more sensible vehicle for the job. He was a bit sore about it, but eventually seemed to admit that it was a nice change.

And, even though he got the back seat, Sam had dimples from motel door to seatbelt click. He got in easily, stretched out, leaned his head _on a head rest,_ and enjoyed a quiet, well air-conditioned ride. He was fucking beside himself, and it was adorable.


	4. Campers

Pitching the tents at dusk was a little tricky in the darkening twilight – lots of swinging torch beams and swearing – but they were up, the flies were on, and one of the Gods has blessed your site with enough dry wood, left by previous campers, to start a decent fire.

You and Sam traipse over to the kill site while Dean gets the fire going. (“Can’t you just drag a twig over your butt cheek and make it go woof?” you teased. “Make you go woof.” “What even?” “Shaddup.”) True to form, there was barely anything to see except some broken branches and dints in the soft ground, and that’s after you brushed away the autumn debris. There was a hell of a lot of hunch in this hunt. It was a huntch. You keep that joke to yourself.

“We should do a stake out,” you say to Sam. “One of us stay up and keep watch.”

“I think it should be two of us, a blade each,” he says. “You and I could do three hours, then I could do another three with Dean, you tap me out, that sort of thing.”

“Yeah okay,” you agree, and hope you’ve made enough noise to draw the monster out soon, before anyone gets tired. If it is a rakshasa, a humanoid shape-shifter that may be invisible, after dark, you’ll need every wit you’ve got between you, plus all the eyes. “We’ll need more wood for that.”

You both gather what you can, although nearly everything fit to burn has already been gleaned over the summer, except for one fallen log. It’s probably too big for the average person, but Sam hauls it through the scrub and gets the first foot of it into the flame. Over the night it’s shoved further in, burned down like a massive match. Good cave man is Sam.

Then it’s hot drinks, small talk, spider dogs, bad jokes, s'mores, and your favourite – chocolate shoved into an almost-split banana, wrapped in foil and gone gooey in the heat. Cool weather camping was a lot warmer with good company.

Maybe Dean detected more than you did, but you were still surprised when he brought up the topic as you all nursed your last hot drinks of the day. “So, Y/N,” he began, stretching himself out against a sitting log, “you’ve been hunting for over a decade, right?”

“Yeah, um, about 12 years,” you nod, shifting your weight on the ground.

“Did you ever date?”

“Nope,” you answer. You save wondering why he’s asking for later.

“What about before?” he asks.

“No, my brother chased them all away,” you explain, “and when he was gone, after that, well… I chased them all away.”

The brothers look at you with eyebrows high, a little surprised, and you wince in reply, “Oops?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Dean said. “Hell of a waste there, Y/N.”

“Oh, well, worse things have happened,” you shrug. “It’s not like I’ve been deprived the whole time.”

“Care to share?” he waggles his eyebrows at you.

“It’s three bucks a minute, sweetheart, and few of them finish fast. You gonna pay in s'mores?”

“Ho HO!” Dean hoots. Sam laughs, trying not to feel awkward about the topic, but he agrees with Dean: what a waste.

You roll with it easily, unoffended and, honestly, enjoy having people to talk with. In fact, you’re going to have to watch yourself for over sharing. “Well, maybe if I’d had somewhere like the bunker, or known a hunter who ticked a few more boxes, I might’ve made something work. But it just was never practical, or _possible_ , you know?”

“Yeah, I know that,” he salutes his hot chocolate.

“Back in a bit,” you say, and collect the toilet roll from its perch on a branch.

Sam wants to ask Dean why he’s bringing up boyfriends with you, but nowhere is truly private on a still night outdoors. Instead he explains the watch schedule and encourages him to get some shut eye while he can. By the time you come back, Dean’s already called good-night and zipped into his tent.

You and Sam arrange yourselves against the sitting logs. You’re opposite each other, the fire to your right, brass blades ready. The space is big enough for a few feet of distance between your boots, even with your legs out straight. You begin a low chat about nothing in particular – mostly previous hunts – and feel the fire’s heat dry the side of your face while your left flank chills in the cold night air. You look at the space around him, trying to keep your vision adapted to darker places, and watch for movement.

An hour passes and the only thing that’s changed is now all the food is out of reach. You stand and stretch, wiggle your legs to revive your butt and sit on the log, leaning your elbows on your knees.

“I have to tell you this, Y/N,” Sam says, shaking his head. “You shoulda gone to college.”

“Yyyyyeah,” you say ruefully. “I think I would’ve liked college. I have no idea what I would’ve done, but I would’ve liked the learning and social life I think.”

“You would’ve slayed the learning,” he nods deeply, his layers of long hair brushing past his ears, framing his eyes as it rests on his cheekbones, and saves his thoughts on your social life. Again he’s occupied with pictures, replaying scenes from Stanford parties with you slotted in amongst his friends.

You rub your thumb and finger into your eyes, over the bridge of your nose, and then react, instinctively, to Sam’s voice jumping up from the ground, loud and stern. You lunge forward before you even know which way to point, and his hand is on your shoulder, pushing you past his body. You turn to look back where you were sitting, and hear Dean coming to life in his tent.

There’s nothing to see, but you know Sam’s eyes didn’t lie. He’s still tense, focused on the space before him, both of you with weapons ready.

Dean’s up and out, padding up behind you, his fingers on your shoulder-blade to assure. He steps an arc around the side, toward the woods with eyes on the space, and you see the log before Sam move back and forth an inch. You think, if you stare at the air like it’s a magic eye picture, you can see a form reflecting the fire light.

“About a yard ahead of you Sam,” you whisper.

“Yeah, I see it,” he says but you know he can’t see much.

Suddenly there’s a scuff on the ground, Sam swings and defends all at once, Dean dashes behind where it should be, and you dart to your right hoping to get in there sideways. But Sam is shoved and knocked and from his noise you know he’s been hurt. You see the way he’s dropping, how his eyes have closed, face slack, and instinctively double back to protect his head from the fall. He stumble-tumbles backwards, crookedly, and pins you against the log.

Meanwhile, Dean has leapt onto whatever might be there and they fall awkwardly; something large and noisy struggles between him and the log. The sound is part dog, part screech, part bile.

With Sam draped over you like some massive star fish, you wheeze Dean’s name and throw your blade onto the dust by his foot. He grabs what you imagine is the shirtfront of the monster and throws it to the ground beside the weapon, snatching it high and thumping it into the mass above the dirt.

Instantly the rakshasa becomes visible, blood pooling and dribbling over its chest, and the noise expires. Dean pushes back to lean against the cold end of the burning log, puffing and wiping his hands. “Let’s hope there’s only one,” he coughs.


	5. There there

You wrangle Sam’s position a little. He’s still out cold, sitting between your legs, his chest squarely pinning yours to the sitting log with his head dropped back on your shoulder. The backs of his hands rest on the dirt.

You wrap your arm to press your hand to his forehead, saying “Sam? Sam? You there?”

Dean grunts as he pushes himself to standing, heading to a tent for something, and you try, hopelessly, to shift Sam by the armpits. His dead weight is amazing – consciously, you start breathing with your belly, since your ribs can’t expand at all. You can move your knees up and down, but your hips aren’t going anywhere and your boots just leave divots in the ground.

Wrapping your arms around him in a hug, you make a pitiful effort to sit up straighter, but you’re kidding yourself. Then you feel wetness on your hand and when you look there’s the darkness of blood on your hands.

“Shit, Dean, he’s cut,” you call out.

Dean had been getting the first aid kit, but now he rushes over to assess the severity. Quickly, the jacket and buttons are undone, Dean cursing under his breath at the holes in Sam’s clothes. You can’t see it and hope and pray that he won’t be out from sheer blood-loss.

“S'ok,” Dean mutters, “just one bad one and three decent scratches. Might stitch him up while he’s out.”

“Help me get him comfy,” you say, and by him you mean you, coz Jesus there are how many pounds of man distributed over the square foot of wood against your back.

Dean pulls Sam forward by the shoulders of his jacket so you can straighten yourself, then slowly lays him back as you guide his head into the dip between your right collar bone and shoulder. His mouth is almost against your chin when you turn to him, and you can feel the warmth of his cheek rub against your neck as Dean shuffles his shirt up.

Now you can see Dean work. While he preps, you decide – like, actually make a decision of what you think Sam would want to wake to – your left hand can go on his upper arm and the other can rest on his shoulder.

Sam doesn’t react to the first puncture, nor the next, and you unconsciously slide your right arm across him, your hand high on his chest and holding his t-shirt out of the way, which rolls his head towards you and back a little. You can’t help but want to comfort him, even if he can’t feel it yet.

“How likely is he to wake up, you think?” you ask.

“He doesn’t usually stay out for long,” Dean mumbles.

“Sam?” you try again, with no response. “We got you Sam,” you say soothingly, beginning to worry that if he wakes to this he’ll snap up and clock Dean a good one. You tighten your hold. “Dean’s just stitching you up and I’m here defending you from the scary log behind us.”

Dean pulls a soft smile and glances up at you between stitches.

“You were so good,” you go on, not realising that you’re squeezing him with your hands. “So brave and strong. Big strong man getting himself between me and danger, I almost swooned… and then there was this bear… with a baseball bat… and it was like Batter up, and you were like, Let’s go bitch, I’ll first base your ass,…”

Dean’s smiling now, two-thirds done, and says “Where the hell was I?”

“Gugh, always with the _you_ , Dean,” you berate softly. “Dean was sending plays from the leaves over there, being a soccer mom, as usual. So anyway, this bear-”

“There was no bear,” Sam whispers. His words bounce off your skin and you take a moment to not react.

“Stay still, almost done.”

“Yeah,” he says, and swallows, his breath breaking past his lips again and he seems so terribly _close_.

“You got a concussion, so just relax okay?” you add.

“Kay,” he answers, eyes still closed, and his right hand lands on your forearm. Between that and him near nuzzling your neck, you feel ridiculously nervous all of a sudden.

 _Joke_ , you think, _make a joke_. “That’s some real-estate you got there Sam,” you say lightly, referring to his torso. But he doesn’t react. In fact, if anything, he goes still.

 _Well, what the hell is he going to say to that, Y/N?_ you think to yourself.

“Private property, Y/N,” Dean says, saving you. “Gonna need permission to trek that trail,” he winks.

“Shit, sorry Dean, didn’t realise you had dibs,” you answer.

“There are no dibs,” Sam says on an exhale.

“See? Public land,” you say pompously. “National park I’d say.”

“National treasure,” Dean nods. “Federally protected.”

Sam clears his throat a little and asks “Who’s jurisdiction is that?”

For the first time it occurs to you that Dean may have ideas about you with Sam, coz he looks at you with a shit eating grin while he tilts the antiseptic bottle against a swab.

“Probably the NPS,” you answer carefully. “Don’t see no federal crimes here.”

“Not yet,” Dean mutters, and dabs Sam’s skin with the lotion. You notice now that Sam’s eyes are open, but you don’t look at him because he seems to be looking at you. Not that there’s much else to see from there…

Dean smooths down some padded plaster and sits back on his feet. “There you go little guy, all done.”

“You feel like moving?” you ask.

“Nope,” he sighs, “comfiest I’ve been since your car.” You notice his thumb rub back and forth along your arm.

“Take these,” Dean says, and puts some painkillers in Sam’s other hand.

Sam swallows them dry, and Dean goes to put things away. Your nerves aren’t abating, now that Sam could be getting off you, but isn’t. While you were occupied by the pressure on your chest and the weight of his head, now you’re distracted by the press of him high on your inner thighs. The press of him everywhere…

Your usual anxious blabbery runs the risk of getting you into more trouble and, as if on cue, you blurt “Can I make some joke about the trouble you took to get between my legs?”

Sam smiles lazily, thinking of his response. “Only if I can make one about having you under me,” he says.

Can he feel you hold your breath?

“Did you undo the buttons too?” he stirs. “I felt you pulling my shirt up.”

“YyyeaIIII don’t think you’re that concussed,” you drawl, and he huffs against your ear.

You feel him tense to sit up and help him hinge forward. Dean meets him with a bottle of water and you pull yourself out from behind him to get a bit closer to the fire. “Did you actually hit your head?”

“No, didn’t hit it, but…” he says, quite clearly, “think he thumped me as he swiped, around here.” He gestures around the side of his head and Dean cranes his neck to see, saying “Oh yeah, that’s gonna colour.”

“Ok, should we keep you awake?” you ask him.

“No,” Sam answered, slowly tilting his head side to side, “no, it doesn’t feel that bad.”

“Hmmm, okay,” you sound reluctant to let it go. It isn’t that late yet…

“You wanna share a tent so you can check on me?” he asks, half smiling.

“Yes,” you answer seriously. “I meant it. I’m gonna set my alarm.” You head off to brush your teeth before he can even start an argument.

And that’s just what you do. Sam lays on his back, next to you in his three-man tent, your timer on, and says goodnight before closing his eyes and waiting for sleep.

You’re not close enough to hear him breathe, but you can see his chest rise and fall in the dimming light from the fire. The horizon of his face, turned away, is all bones - jaw, cheek and brow – and you wait for your vision to adjust to the darkness, hoping to see the lines of his neck and throat, maybe some eyelash.

Then you shake your head and shut your eyes. You don’t need to go getting attached to a Winchester.


	6. Just Being Careful

At 12:30am, Sam hasn’t moved. You squeeze his shoulder and he grunts in reply, which is all you need. You reset the alarm to the sound of Dean snoring a few yards away in his own tent.

At 2am, the moon is high and before you nudge him again he rolls himself over, facing you. It’s a hazy, grey light in the tent, but you can see him better than before and you lose some time looking at him. He’s all planes and shadows, fine lines and angles, beautiful proportions. His clear brow, soft hair, long fingers, and… just… his form. It’s a study of what a human can be. You’re finding it hard not to look and you realise you must be seeing what people fall for. His attractiveness has never been elusive, but how _you_ might be attracted to him is something you’ve never explored.

You close your eyes, remembering your last piece of self-advice, but blackness only leaves your mind free to flip back through the versions of Sam you’ve collected on this hunt, an intimate level of information you hadn’t had before: His weight, his warmth, his smell, his breath… and how much you imagined his lips being just a half-inch to the left while Dean was sewing his skin together.

The alarm at 3:30am takes a while to wake you. Sam patiently waits so you can see he’s okay. You snort alert, switch off the alarm and lift your head but say nothing. In the poor light you can only see a silhouette. He’s turned away and you put your hand on his shoulder, but he doesn’t respond. You whisper his name, but still he’s quiet because even half asleep he’s a cheeky bastard sometimes. You stick your finger in his ear and his hand snatches at you. _Oh yeah, poking a hunter_ , you recall.

He rolls over, finger and thumb easily meeting around your wrist, and settles into a new position. You wonder if he’s going to give your hand back, but now he’s wondering what he might do with it.

“I’m okay,” he mumbles, and rubs his thumb back and forth once.

“Okay,” you say, “Good.”

He lets your arm go and you tuck it into the warmth of your bag after resetting the timer.

Sam cracks his eyes open a little and realises that his face is in darkness, but yours is not. He watches you relax the last little edges into sleep and takes you in. Your hair is all over the place now, wild looking, but when they first saw you yesterday it was proper and pinned. He thought back to the times he’d noticed all the ways you’re a woman in previous hunts – when your curves had been revealed, the way you could be angry, your faces of unimpressed patience, your mouth – and smiles a little as he mentally adds ‘Y/N in a pants suit’ to the list.

In this light he could memorise the length of your lashes, the shape of your lips, and how your features compliment each other. Soon enough though, he found his recently rested – although somewhat tenderised – mind heading for your earlobes and including his lips, your fingers maybe over his chest, or even his back, your hair and how it might sway when-

 _No. Now is not the time to generate a hard-on_ , Sam sensibly reminded himself. _Do something tomorrow. Later. Whatever, after sleep._

The 5am alarm woke you both but Sam got there first. “Enough,” he groaned.

“Hokay,” you answered, from wherever you were.

“Thank fuck,” you heard from the other tent.


	7. Just a suggestion

Breakfast is only enough to get yourselves going. There’s no intention of moving the rakshasa – the real FBI can deal with that shit. As soon as possible, the gear is on your backs, yesterday’s clothes still on and you’ve trekked back to your car before the sun has even got things warm.

“Ohmygod,” Sam sighs in the back-seat. “This car is so nice.”

“Heathen,” Dean mutters. They both fall asleep within two miles.

Back at the motel, you park beside the Impala and start to move the gear without waking the boys. You leave their room key on the dash, lock the car, and help yourself to a lovely hot shower.

Afterwards, from your window, you can see the car is empty and you knock on their door to see how they are. Sam calls you in and you sit while he speaks to you from the bathroom, through the door.

“Thanks for organising everything,” he half shouts.

“No problem,” you call.

“Dean’s getting some food. I won’t be long.”

“Sounds good.” The shower starts and you decide to lay down on a bed to wait for them.

After what felt like seconds, Sam’s out and apparently waking you with “Even got you in my bed already. People are gonna talk Y/N.”

“Nnnngod I think I gave myself morning breath again,” you yawn and get yourself to sitting.

He sits on the end of the bed, half facing you, big happy face on his head and you don’t even realise you’re smiling back the same way. He goes to say something and you wince for him, “Jeez you got a bit of a black eye there.”

“Uh, yeah,” he touches the inside of his eye gingerly where it’s purpled from the knock. “It feels fine though.”

“Yikes,” you say. You don’t like head injuries; they make you nervous.

“Hey, what do you have lined up next? Anything?” he asks.

“No, nothing, yet to check the presses.”

“You wanna-”

“Theeeeere she is,” Dean barges in, grubby in his day-old clothes but refreshed at the prospect of donuts, coffee, pastries and pie. “Here we go folks,” he says and brings the bags over to you both, sitting himself on the bed opposite to deal out the goods.

“I was just about to ask Y/N if she wanted to hang out at the bunker for a few hunts,” Sam said, avoiding Dean’s gaze. “Just until she gets itchy feet or, you know, someone gets sick of the cooking.”

“Yeah sure,” Dean agrees, not missing a beat, Sam smothering his surprise. “It’s a big place, company’d be great,” he says, barely getting the words out before the food goes in.

“Really?” you check, but you aren’t going to press the point because that would be fucking awesome. _The same walls for more than four days? Hell to the fuck yes please._

“Yeah,” Sam nods hopefully.

“Mmmhmm,” Dean matches.

“Okay then,” you say and take a breath. “Better get some recipes.” You bite into whatever it is in your hands, and try not to think too hard about being invited to stay in someone’s home. It’s been years since you had an anchor like that, let alone anyone who would know if you saw the next day or not. You try not to get lost in the feeling.

Once everyone has gotten something in their guts, Sam wipes his hands on his jeans and says to you “Hey can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure,” you mumble and dust off the sugar and cinnamon before following him out to the parking lot.

“Thanks for inviting me to stay,” you say. “It’s awesome. Honestly, I can’t even tell you how good it is coz… I just… I don’t even know-”

“Don’t mention it,” he waves it off. You’re standing in the space beside your car and he’s not that far away. Trees shade you both from the bright sun and he looks good, healthy, in the even daylight, purple eye and all.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “I’ll probably mention it again at some stage. Maybe write it on a cake.”

He grins at you and puts his hands on his hips. Then drops his arms down, frowns at himself a little, and you wonder what scary secret he’s about to land on you about living at the bunker. Maybe it has a banshee or some shit.

“So, I thought,” he swallows, maybe doubting himself. “I thought I should be upfront about why I invited you to the bunker. Or, at least, you know,” he’s waving a hand around as he figures out his thoughts, “just, include you.”

“Oh yeah, sure.” _Not clear at all, but okay._

He clears his throat and pauses a moment. You’re wearing jeans you’ve rolled up past your ankles, your bare feet looking smaller from it. Your shirt hangs open and he can see your waist and curves beneath the snug singlet. Your cheeks are all shiny and fresh from your shower, eyes like happy crescents…

A moment of impulsiveness takes him. “Would you mind if I kissed you?” he asks, like it’s something he might do in the future.

You laugh, surprised, and rock back a little, almost covering your mouth as you answer “Yeah, sure! That’d be fine!”

“Yeah?” he says, taking a step toward you.

“Yeah,” you laugh, nodding.

“Okay,” he says and smiles openly as he closes the gap, leaning down to collect you with an arm up your back and a hand your waist. He plants his lips on yours and you both breathe in with it, surprised at the feel of the other and how nice it is.

He straightens his legs, and even though he’s leaned over you’re still lifted off the ground. From the window, Dean’s caught sight of the moment, and with your shift hanging and shocked arms dangling from their sockets he thinks you look like you’re being abducted by aliens, tractor-beamed into Sam’s shape. (He mumbles an “Oh God” and gets himself to the shower already.)

The hand behind you is cradling your head, and when he moves his lips against you, his fingertips shift in your hair, making everything heighten in sensitivity. He feels lovely, everywhere, hair fallen forward and tickling your cheeks, but you can’t think enough to collect how anything really feels below your chin.

When you do move your hands, they land on his upper arms. The size of them in your grasp zaps you alert and you let out a short moan of realisation. Sam’s lips snap off you and immediately you squeak “I thought you meant on the _cheek_!”

“Oh shit!” he gasps, pulling his head back and beginning to lower you down.

“That… That’s…” _That’s a lot_ , you think _. And I’m going to live with them… him…?_

He steps back a little, still close enough to look down upon you, watching you intently.

You run your palms over your hips. “My room.”

“Really?”

“I want to talk, just… not here,” you say.

He’s right behind you, taking strides to keep up with your urgency, and locks the door once you’re both inside.


	8. Woah Nelly, Hey Nelly

“Okay, just wait,” you say, hands up and taking a few steps into the room before facing him.

Sam notices the distance now between you and begins to doubt the situation. He nods and watches, concern wrinkling his brow like wet bread.

“I’m not angry, or upset. I’m good,” you say, fumbling for words. “Are you… are you asking me to move in with you?”

“No! No, not like that,” Sam practically bounces down, his hands coming forward to reassure. “God, no, you’d have your own room, _any_ room, I just… I didn’t want to invite you to live with us and then have you wondering why, or getting a mixed message.”

You’re nodding a little in understanding.

“Sorry, yeah, that was a lot of messages,” he realises and runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m just surprised,” you explain. “I’ve never really- the whole boyfriend thing-”

“Of course,” Sam takes a deep breath. “Shit, Y/N, I’m sorry. I should'na done that.”

Your brain is picking up words with a blindfold now; you don’t even know what you need. “It was really nice,” you say. It’s weak but earnest and you smile to encourage him.

Then a thought occurs to you. “Hey, check out isn’t for another hour.”

He looks at you and waits – coz that statement really can go any which way.

“How about we just get packed and go. How long to the bunker?” you ask.

“About nine hours,” he answers. “You don’t want to sleep first?”

“I was thinking you could drive my car and I’d have a nap,” you suggest, “and then we could swap… or hang out…”

Sam smiles, first because you’re making a plan to spend time with him, and then grins because _he would love to drive your car._

He takes a deep breath and sighs “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in weeks.” You smile back, feeling well warmed under his happy gaze.

“I’ll get Dean going,” he says, but before he leaves adds “Y/N, I really am sorry I kissed you like that before-”

“It’s really okay, Sam-”

“How about I don’t kiss you again, I mean, I’d like to kiss you, obviously-”

“Shit, please stop saying kiss-” you plead, putting a hand over your eyes. It’s too hot and too much right now.

He smiles at you, the edges of it slipping into calculation. “I won’t do anything like that again, until you’ve done it to me.”

You pause, thoughtful. “You want me to make the first move- I mean, the second move?”

“Yeah,” he says. He opens the door and says as he disappears “I’ll get Dean going.”

“Okay,” you call after him, and stare at the door like it’s going to give you a fucking thumbs up.

* * *

 

Sam hears the shower turn off and waits for Dean’s footfall on the bathroom floor. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Y/N and I are gonna leave soon, like in the next 15 or so.”

“Oh, okay, uh-”

“She’ll get some rest while I drive her car for a while, and we might swap-”

“Yeah, good idea-”

“But I was thinking that if the distance is too far for you, if you’re too tired, you can stop somewhere on your own for a night, right?” Sam asks hopefully.

“Yeah, I guess-”

“Cool, okay, well, my stuff is already in her car, she’s checking out-”

Dean opens the door. “Jeez man, why did'n'ya just leave a note?”

Sam blinks at him, unaware of how fast he’s been talking. “Whaddya mean?”

Dean almost smiles at him, realising he has no idea. “Nothing. When’s checkout?”

“In about 45,” Sam says, already standing and walking for the door. “Don’t race us, sleep if you need to,” he orders, thinking of how often he has to bully Dean out of the driver’s seat when he’s tired.

“I will, I promise,” Dean assures, pulling on his pants.

“Cool, alright, well, see ya,” he waves and generously pauses long enough to make eye contact and smile as Dean says “See ya” back.


	9. Road trip

You sleep for hours. So long in fact that you wake up feeling guilty, but there’s some food in the front and apparently you’re only 2 hours off stopping for dinner.

“Keep sleeping if you like,” Sam says.

“Nah, think I’m at risk of making myself over-tired,” you say, but you take some time to stretch and arrange yourself before sitting up. “How’s your head?”

“Good,” he says. “Feels fine.”

You settle yourself on the far right and buckle in. It’s a bit sneaky, coz you can see Sam’s profile from here but you’re out of the rear view mirror’s range, so he can’t see you.

“How are you liking the drive?” you ask.

“I love it,” he says, adjusting his hands over the wheel. “The impala’s got a really thin grip on the steering wheel, so this is nice, and the gears on her aren’t as satisfying. Even just being up higher…” he reports, then kinda stops and swallows.

“I won’t tell him,” you say.

He smiles and laughs a little.

“Anyway, the Impala isn’t about being the best drive around…”

“Yeah,” he agrees. He’s been thinking about how you’ve read the books, and wonders how much more you know of them, or what you’ve inferred. And now he’s wondering what you really recall from the books and, well, other women…

“Hey Y/N,” he says, then clears his throat, “Dean and I read those books too.”

“Oh yeah? The Supernatural series?”

“And I gotta say, there’s some poetic licence in there that is just…” he looks at the road and frowns, “They exaggerate things a little.”

“You’re not 6-foot-3?”

“No,” he laughs a little, “not stuff like that. Like with… with the way Dean and I spent our spare time.”

“Oh you mean the women!” you say loudly.

“Yah,” he nods carefully.

“The many, many towns with in the many, _many_ women,” you say sweepingly.

He breaks an exasperated sigh and starts to wonder why he brought this up. “Y/N, sometimes he-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say generously, “grain of salt, rounding up and all that, it’s all… he had books to sell you know. I’m sure it was hot in real life, but I don’t really recall it well enough for you to worry.”

“Yeah, no, I didn’t think you had it memorised or anything.”

“Who would?” you agree.

“Yyyyyeah, anyway, not sure where I was going with that, but… yeah.”

“What would you like to talk about next Sam?” you stir.

He makes a groaning noise and rubs his hand over his jaw.

You laugh at him and ask “Would you like me to drive?”

“Yes! Yes,” he says, “that would be good.”

He pulls into a parking lot and you both get out to stretch your legs. Near the back corner of the car you cross paths. He doesn’t give you that wide a berth, kind of twinkling a smile at you when you glance up.

Back inside the car, you pull your seat toward the steering wheel. Sam releases his own, letting the motion of the car slide and thunk it back as far as it goes, sighing “Aaaawyyyeah.”

For the miles until dinner you settle on the relatively harmless topic of movies.

You argue over who is more handsome or beautiful: “It’s the childhood idolisation. No one will ever be prettier than Jennifer Connolly!” you declare. “But Emilia Clarke is-” _“No one!!”_

Then which movie is more heartbreaking: “Ok, I’m gonna say My Girl, and maybe The Notebook,” Sam offers. “My Girl? Did you skip Boyz n the Hood?” “I don’t remember being sad for that.” “You stone cold bastard. What about District 9?” “Haven’t seen it.” “Well, I haven’t seen The Notebook-” _“What?”_ he squawks, but you’re insisting, “ _District 9_ man, take a hanky!”

Favourite soundtrack: “Really? Dean let’s you listen to soundtracks?” “No, but I run with my player. Did you like the Walk the Line soundtrack?” “You know what, this one’s too hard. You’re asking me to pick between The Power of One, School of Rock, Footloose, O'Brother Where Art Thou, anything by Tarantino-” “Fair Point,” he concedes.

“What about best cinematography?” you suggest.  
“Uh… yeah, wellll-”  
“I’m kidding.”  
“Thank you.”

The stretch of highway is broken by a town and you both agree that dinner is due. You text Dean to let him know where you’re at and he’s two towns back, in a diner already, assuring you he’s awake and fit to make it home.

In your booth, food ordered and drinks delivered, you ask “Actually, where’s a good cinema? You’ve probably seen more states than me; any theatre stick out?”

“Yeah, actually,” he nods and thinks, licking his lips. “The Alamo Drafthouse in Texas. That was real good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, we went to the one in Austin. Would definitely detour for that again, just for the range. And the food.”

“Cool.”

“But there’s one about 20 minutes from us that’s not bad,” he adds. “We could go there.”

“That we could,” you say. You look down, suddenly feeling vulnerable now he’s facing you under bright lights.

He stretches his legs out under the table and you let them rest against yours.

On the way to the car you say “I call driver but you, Shotgun, can call the music.”

“Awesome,” he smiles. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his ruined jacket from last night and he walks with his arm against your shoulder. “This was a really good idea, with the travelling.”

“Yeah,” you agree, your arms crossed for the warmth. “I’d do it again.”

You don’t look at him as you get in and get settled. You’re getting used to the fact that he keeps looking at you, and he knows it.

He picks some music and leans back but it’s all wasted since he falls asleep and doesn’t wake till you’re at the bunker garage.


	10. New lodgings

Surprisingly, Dean’s home. He ate fast, broke limits and now the Impala sits before you, ticking cool in the cavernous garage. You park your car under Dean’s guidance and Sam wakes from the brightness.

“Hey,” Dean greets, coming up to your window. “Good timing. I’m gonna hit the hay. See you in the morning?”

You and Sam both yeah and nod, and soon you’re shuffling down the corridors too, bags over your shoulders. You follow Sam, neither of you speaking.

“So, this is probably your room,” Sam nods. “We’ve been keeping it as a guest room, so the bed’s made and all. We can make up another later.”

“Nice,” you run your eyes around the space and it’s modest 1930s style.

“The bathroom’s right there and I’m that door up there,” he gestures.

“Cool,” you smile, “I think I should probably sleep. Hey, can you knock on my door when you get up? So I don’t get lost on my way to breakfast?”

“No problem, I won’t be too early,” he promises.

“Hell no, that may ruin everything,” you glance up.

“Ha, yeah,” he says and looks at you, only half believing he has you here to see again tomorrow.

Without thinking he says “Well, goodnight,” and leans over, aiming straight for your lips, then realises and goes sideways, his arm coming around late and high to kind of embrace you, awkwardly – a blurry picture of mild panic going by – and the whole thing is tugged awry when his bag slips off his shoulder, jerking his other arm out of the last-minute I-totally-meant-to-hug-you hug.

You start to giggle in his hold. He takes a deep breath and says “I forgot,” with his chin over your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you smirk. “I want to…” you say quietly. He pulls back a little and looks at you, maybe giving you a moment to seize. “…just… not yet.”

You get stuck a bit, with him so near again. You try gallantly to lock him with a saucy stare, having never really flirted sober. Your words, though, are tantalising enough and his gaze lightens up, a low smile growing as you looks over you, down your neck, and he straightens while still so close.

You forget what you were trying to do and, without realising, show him a face that’s warming with desire and distracted by his everything firm.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” you whisper.

His smile breaks into a grin. Then he picks up his bag and heads off down the corridor, replying “Night YN.”

You’re quick to get yourself into bed, not realising till you do that what you’ve been craving is the solitude and darkness to organise your thoughts. Under the covers, palms rubbing your curves to get warm, you gather all your snapshots of Sam from the past few days, add them to all the nice ways you’ve known him since you first met, and let yourself build a picture of what you might like in the future… How he might look at you; the feel of him talking to you when you’re alone, with his breath bouncing off your skin like it did; the secret smiles you might get; the big grins he might crack from beneath you… and then, before you sleep, you think of how your fingers are not at all that thick or long, that you do not have that deep a reach, that you are altogether too light on your own, that your hands are too small, your nipples too dry, your efforts too familiar, and that you are achingly, gapingly, very specifically, empty.


	11. The Grand Tour

Sam wakes you from the end of the bed, shaking your foot since the knock at the door did nothing. Your brain pleads with you for elegance and grace but your yawn and hair say good fucking luck.

While he waits outside, you chuck on some soft clothes, rinse and swallow some water, then follow him to the kitchen. Easy, idle chat around what’s where and what there is to see occupies you till you’re sitting and eating opposite each other.

Dean shows up looking like he fought with his pillow and lost. He isn’t particularly talkative at this hour, but he’s pleasant and the dishevelled look is easy on you, no pressure.

During the conversation, you feel yourself slipping in and out of paradigms with Sam… Sam A Guy You Work With, Sam The House-mate, Sam A Guy Who Wants You. Some of it is the way he’s acting, and the rest is simply your point of view. It has your temper flipping from quiet and benign, to affectionate and homely, but it finally reigns you, tethering your attention to him, and this little ticker-tape of thought starts scrolling across everything you hear – _that guy there, could be there for you, all that brawn and heart, he could be someone who cares about where you are and how you feel, would notice things about you, like they do when they’re a boyfriend, that awesome guy there, across the table, those hands could reach out, for you, right now, and ripple those forearm muscles to ask you to hold his fingers, and he’d hold yours, want to hold yours… is this what it’s like to want a boyfriend?_

He starts giving you a quiet smile while you listen to him, noticing how much you’re looking at him, and before long he’s offering the obligatory tour.

“Could I get the gold class version? With both Winchesters?” you ask.

Dean looks a little surprised, as does Sam in a slightly different way, and you add “Well, you both invited me, and I’d like to know what you both think of the place.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam says quickly. “Now?”

“Shower first?” you request.

“Sure, we’ll meet back here in half-a,” he agrees and everyone acts extra super casual.

You don’t actually have much in the way of clothes. It’s all very purpose built, your wardrobe, but at the least you keep to jeans, a t-shirt and bare feet, all your effort going into making your hair informal and pretty. _Is it pretty? Doesn’t matter, I’m here._

So, from the kitchen, the guys lead you around the bunker the long way. Dean is pretty proud of the shooting range and you can tell he wishes he’d brought his gun for the tour.

You are equal parts mortified, thrilled and fascinated by the dungeon and the brothers seem to be able to sympathise with those emotions. By the time you’ve strolled around the space and come back to face them, you don’t know what to think, or imagine, about this unique room. Your gaze lands on Sam for no particular reason and he awkwardly offers “It’s actually been really useful.”

You look at him curiously. “Well, what the else would it be?”

“Yeah, right,” he answers and looks helplessly at Dean as you leave.

Dean grins, quietly suggesting “It could be _fun_ ” at Sam.

“Shuddup,” Sam scolds, and Dean shoulders him as he goes by, following you out.

Back in the garage, Dean can’t stop talking about the different vehicles, the story behind Dorothy’s old bike, and all the equipment he has access to. You try to contribute but after a while you just let Dean gush and share. The few things you can offer only spur him on and it’s amazingly refreshing to see him in a different context. Sam stands back a little and watches the two of you explore the shelves and tools. It’s not that you were orchestrating a bonding session with Dean, but you were hoping to spend a bit more non-work time with both of them, together.

As Dean leads you back to the warren of the bunker, Sam stops before you at the bottom of the steps to give you a generous smile. In this moment, he reaches for you and you take his hand. He’s not helping you down the steps, of course, but it’s a gesture of thanks and well short of what he’d like to do. You squeeze and pull on him, leaning over to give a short but generous kiss high on his cheek, pressing yours there too.

He notices your eyelashes on his forehead and turns into it but can’t catch more of you. You smile, sweetly at first but it smirks at the end as you walk past him down the steps. The whole encounter is quick and quiet enough to not distract Dean as you fall in step behind him for the rest of the tour.

Rounding the corners and doorways, Sam snags a moment to lean over and whisper roughly “Not on the damn lips.” You smother your grin, because you remember quite well his words back at the motel room – that he wouldn’t kiss you ‘like that’ till you did him – and it seems he remembers it too.

In the medic room, Dean points out all the things they regularly use, where they keep spare stock and you pay careful attention.

“You wanna try out the chair?” he offers enthusiastically.

“Uh, no thanks. I’m okay with experiencing that when I have to,” you smile.

The library is right there and Dean follows you and Sam saying “This is probably the coolest, no, third coolest room in the place. The War room is just through there and we don’t use it much but it’s the second coolest.”

“You _really_ like the dungeon, don’t you?” you say. “What _does_ that say about you Dean?”

“Well, I was _going_ to say the garage was best… but, if you’re going to read my mind…” He grins, winking quickly, before saying “Speaking of, Baby needs an oil change, which I wanna get in before lunch. Catch you two later.”

You and Sam watch him leave.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tour continues and Sam flirts the hell back. You are so okay with this.

“So, would you rank the library first?” you ask, Sam going to lean on a chair.

“It’s pretty awesome,” he nods, folding his arms over his chest. You manage to keep your eyes on his. “I hadn’t thought about it much.”

He’s smiling at you again, mercurial and cheekily, and it’s distracting enough to hijack your self regard. He breaks the moment by explaining the different sections, the _really_ precious texts, and pointing out a few artefacts, especially the ones they’ve used. You follow at a distance as he strolls to the war room and describes how it’s connected to the control room, what’s happened here in the past.

“And up those stairs is the front door,” he concludes. “It looks much more like a bunker out there.”

“Yeah,” you say, standing on the steps between the rooms. “I love the style of it. Makes up for the lack of sunlight.”

“Yeah,” he laughs a little. “The forest outside is nice too,” he adds, but he’s not really thinking about that.

His hands are in his pockets as he comes over to you and you wait, slipping your fingers into your back pockets. He waits till he’s right before you, a foot away, before saying “So, what did you want to see next?”

“What else is there to see?” you ask half innocently.

Sam sticks his jaw out, thinking of his reply, but all that’s in his mind is _My room_ and it feels a bit ridiculous and cheesy at this stage.

“How hard are you gonna stick to that rule?” you ask quietly, changing the subject.

“What rule?” He’s eyes dance over your face while he waits and hopes.

“That you won’t, till I do.”

“Kiss you, you mean?”

He seems to be leaning in a little. Your voice becomes smoother, surer. “Is it just for kissing?” you ask “Or am I going to break the seal on everything else too?”

Sam swallows and clenches his jaw, his face brightening with anticipation. “If that’s what you’d prefer,” he says, his voice dropping and almost thrumming through you at this closeness. Regardless, something about you certainly _thrums_ and you feel yourself shiver from it, your confidence tripping a little.

Instantly, he softens and backs off an inch. You breathe in sharply before chickening out with “I’m hungry. Show me back to the kitchen?”

“Sure,” he nods and waits for you to move first.

 _Is this the way I normally walk?_ you think, then stop to let Sam pass and lead the way.

“Anything in particular you want?” he asks, grabbing the fridge handle.

“Just an apple would do,” you say, avoiding his gaze and looking around a bit. He takes one from the bench-top bowl and tosses it to you.

Leaning against the bench, you cross your ankles and take a bite, and think of what to do next, whether you should keep on with this crash course in flirting you’re putting yourself through, or go and do something more job orientated… The apple is juicy and you’re too caught up in thought to notice the slurping noises you’re making, even when you slip your fingers up your chin wipe a shiny smear.

At some point you realise Sam’s mirroring you across the space, leaning with his limbs crossed and helping himself to the view of you while you’re not paying attention. (You had completely missed how he mentally recorded your wet eating, something he managed to store away for later.)

Just the idea of him enjoying looking at you, that by itself, has you throwing away any plans of industriousness and for a moment you imagine giving up the next few days too.

You finish what’s in your mouth, carefully wiping your chin (yeah, there’s no grace in that) and place the half finished apple on the counter.

“So you regretting inviting the messy eater to live with you?” you joke.

“Have you seen Dean with a sandwich?” he says dryly. “I can cope with you and fruit… I think.” The flirt is strong with this one.

His smile changes from sly to friendly, adding “No, I don’t think I’m going to regret inviting you here, no matter what happens.”

“Really? No matter what happens? Even if …” you search your mind for things that might test him. “Even if I… flirted with Dean or… hit on bartenders… or left coffee rings on the old wooden furniture.”

“You really struggled to think of awful things there,” he smirked. “I don’t think those things are likely.”

“No,” you bite your lip, looking around. “Not really. Although the coffee-”

“I think you’re good here, you’re really good with us, good for Dean,” he says, “I just hope I’m good for you.”

“Sam!” you almost cough at his doubt, putting your fingers over your mouth to manage your surprise. “Sam, you’re the best man I know.”

He blinks at you a moment, hesitantly complimented.

“You gotta be careful here,” you warn him, “with all this boyfriend behaviour. It’s new to me, and… intoxicating. I’ll trip and fall for you, face first… it’ll be messy.”

His smile is small and kind, taking a moment to think. “Well, to be honest, Y/N, I’m fairly confident about you… and life’s pretty short… I’s hoping you’d jump.”

You hold your breath, no words of reply to that, but in your suspended state you do feel on the precipice, and it’s not a cliff but a slide, like a mystery ride you’ve been waiting in line for all this time. A tall, sweet, big-hearted, muscle-bound slippery slide…

You gather yourself, eyes back on the floor and say, as bravely as you can, “I haven’t seen your room yet.”

“My room is too far away,” Sam says and pushes away from the bench. Your chest tightens instantly, mouth opening as you watch him come to over you. He gets close, face tilting down to look at you, and stops like he’s pushing against your energy.

You have enough functionality to say “Me first,” making him pause and breathe out his nose.

“No,” he counters, “I’m allowed to do this.” He leans down and presses his lips just below the high corner of your right cheek bone, smooth and warm, almost next to your ear, and nuzzles you so your head gives. You hear him breathe in as his hair tickles your eyebrow and forehead. He opens his mouth a little and moves it into a true kiss before letting it lightly snap off your skin as he straightens.

The light gets between you again and you feel how you’ve grabbed the bench top edge, either side of your waist, and see his hands have landed lightly beside yours, fingertips leaning.

Before you hangs an expanse of soft stretch cotton, framed by the muscle and tendons of his inner arms, the shadows and lines of his neck. You watch it fill and empty with the rise and fall of his chest, the underside of his pecs and a few ribs shaping the fabric on each inhale. He smells warm.

Your eyes travel upwards to see Sam paused, waiting and intent. “I kissed you on your left,” you say.

His dimples flash before he begins to bend again and your gaze slides from lips to jaw, to neck, to shoulder muscle, as each part moves forward, but you lose focus altogether once he makes contact, the noise of his lips working so close to your ear, his breath breaking past his swallow with the hint of a moan.

Sam pauses there a moment, his lips brushing against you when he says “That’s it.” He moves back a bit to see you. “That’s all I can do.”

Inside the frame of him, you lean forward a little, tilt your face up and tiptoe to kiss him on the mouth, eyes open, lips closed, a short, chaste noise breaking between you. He feels perfect, even in such a quick moment, and you think the image of his eyes darting between yours, intently watching what you’ll do, will never leave you.

He moves with you as you come down, cracking a shallow sigh in his throat as he gives you a pained face about the way you’re limiting him right now, unlocking places on you with where you’re touching him.

“Y/N,” he moans tightly, and checks his tone before he says “If you wanna take this slow, I’m fine with that. I’m petty sure I’d find that just as fun as anything else… but I think I’d like to know first.”

 _Slow_ , you think. _Slow could be fun…_

He kisses you back, just as you did him. You start to wonder how long your heart can run this fast. His gaze is so heavy you think you’re going to need stronger legs.

“You don’t want to kiss me?” you ask, quiet and crisp.

“I want to kiss you like I did yesterday,” he says, moving to talk near your ear, faces side by side. “So I can taste you again. Kiss you where you’re soft… and wet.”

You close your eyes at that, the feeling of a curse or prayer running through your mind but you don’t know which one.

You let go of the bench edge, your knuckles creaking as you try to relax your body without moving much. “I dunno Sam,” you say, feeling him twitch as your hand finds his waist. “I don’t imagine there’s anywhere on you that’s soft _and_ wet…” You turn your face towards his, graze his jaw line with your other hand, guiding him toward you. “But I can have a good look.”

Your mouths meet and you lick his upper lip. A short moan punches out, low in his throat, and immediately his hands are matching yours, latching onto your jaw and waist and even with that as his only grip, he gets you onto the bench top and tight against his body.

Inside your mouth he licks at the smooth flesh of your lip, lapping over your tongue, breaking the seal to breathe as he feels you roll against him. He starts another, his lips working articulately to feel you and give more. You imagine what you could easily see – his brow, cheek and ear, the shaggy hair – if only you could open your eyes under the consuming attention of his mouth.

It’s a struggle to stay with the game and keep your hands where they are. Too easily they slip to the back of him, up the expanse of ribs and into the thick hair. His hands are that big though, they can already reach those places on you.

You feel his firm heat up the length of your belly and under your bust, but it’s the bones against your inner thighs that distract you most, and what’s between them.

“Sam… show me your room.”

He works his kiss back to your cheek, where he was before and takes a breath to calm. “You sure?”

“I’ll need some privacy if I’m going to find that soft spot,” you answer and duck under his chin to kiss the dip between the collarbones. His fingers squeeze you, his voice strung out by the tilt of his head, “Y/N, I need-”

“Yes Sam,” you say. “I don’t want to go slowly. I want this to last a long time, but slow can come later. Would you hold my hand while I jump?”


	13. For Sam

He steps back and slides you off the bench top, your feet landing heavily on the ground. One long, pressing, lip-mashing kiss and he’s grinning down at you to take your hand firmly in his. Then he’s striding out the door and dragging you along. Within yards, he’s changed his mind and turned to collect you in a hugging hold, one arm under your butt and the other up your back. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and head and smile at the disappearing kitchen door, ear to ear with Sam.

The distance, shorter than you remember under his speed, gives you a little time to think but soon enough you’re on the ground again, the door behind you closed and your tour of Sam’s room quite quick thanks to him filling most of your view.

“This is my room,” he says as your back thuds against the wood.

“Smaller than I imagined.”

“Really?”

“Seems to have a moving wall.”

He smirks and plants his hands beside your shoulders. “They’re all pretty sturdy.”

You’re staring each other down now, while he waits for you to end or restart the game.

“That bed really long enough for you?” you ask.

“Nope.”

“Show me.”

He falters, then blinks a bit. His eyes dart sideways a few times, so you say “Lay on the bed.”

He’s smiling but kind of frowns a little, like _really?_

“Humour me,” you shrug. “I’ve never really flirted before.”

The thoughts flick across his face: _Okeydokey, I guess I’m laying down._

Sam walks to the side of the bed and turns, bending to sit and laying so his head’s on the pillow, but he’s looking at the ceiling so he tucks his hands behind his head so he can see you. He seems to feel awkward, like the position suggests he’s waiting for you, which he really isn’t wanting to do at all. “Like this?” he asks, almost chuckling.

“Yeah,” you say, a smile growing as your plan solidifies. “Don’t move.” For a moment, you don’t move either: those arms, folded back and looking like the muscles get in the way of themselves, are practically intimidating, even from here.

His smile freezes while he watches you walk towards the bed. You don’t touch his feet, poking out beyond the mattress, and don’t even graze his track pants as you crawl your hands and knees up either side of his body. “Keep your hands there, please,” you say, and smile reassuringly. He murmurs an Okay back and waits curiously.

“So you want to kiss me where I’m soft… and wet,” you remind him.

“Yes,” he says clearly, not backing down.

“I’m going to start with soft.” You pick up the edge of his shirt and slide it to his armpits. His belly is taught and hollowing, thanks to the stretch of his arms, but north of that it’s all ripples and little curves, barely a flat patch in sight. His shoulder blades flare out under him, tufts of hair revealed below the scrunched cotton. He does a mini-sit up to let you move the fabric up his back, and his entire torso flashes with muscle, an anatomical grid embossed on him for all of seconds. You lightly pull your fingertips along the ripples of his ribs, skipping the patch of plaster in the middle of his left rib cage.

“I have some softness,” you begin, “here.” You gesture over his chest with your hands, kind of cupping the air.

“Really?” he says with mock earnestness.

“Not here,” you tap in the middle and lean down to kiss gently down his sternum, “but to the side.” You creep over and kiss over the pec. “This part is very soft,” you kiss around the little curve, where the ribs start to show again, then work your way toward what would be the peak. “And here especially, it starts off soft,” you put your lips on the nipple, warm and nibbling, then swirl your tongue around the colour, sucking a little, and kiss firmly. “But it does tend to harden,” you continue, and see that it has, indeed, pebbled already.

You look up to see Sam breathing through his mouth now, his arms pulling a little to help his view. “Just like that,” you smile. You move over to the other side and lap at him, listening to him whisper “Oh, shit Y/N” as you work. You lick the tip to see how ticklish he is and, judging by the way he twitches and bites his lip, he really is. You pull back, look at your handiwork and comment “So I suppose they’re a maybe.”

“Ahuh,” he agrees, releasing his lip and grinning at you. “That feels really good.”

“Good,” you smile back, and start to move your body down, still hovering and untouching. “This general area may be my softest,” you confide. “There’s no real bone behind it, so nothing to stop you.” You kiss about his belly before hitting the navel with your tongue. It’s hairy and you follow the trail towards his waistband, but interrupt yourself with “Actually, this part!” You dive for his waist, on his right, and put your open mouth on his low ribs, tickling him with your teeth and tongue.

“Ah fuck! Y/N!” Sam cries out, bending sideways to get away from you. “Shit! A-hah! No!” He scrambles but can’t really get away thanks to your tight knees. He’s still got his fingers locked behind his head, but soon his legs start to bend and threaten to do something bigger, so you ease off.

“Hmmm,” you say thoughtfully. “It’s pretty hard under there.”

“Shit,” he puffs, rosy cheeked and surprised. “I can’t believe-” Then his smile changes, slides hotly from amazed to gleeful, and you realise you forgot something: You were so distracted by your hunch that he was ticklish that you forgot you’re are _so very fucking ticklish_ , and you’re leading him around your body too. And Sam – astute, observant Sam – now knows it.

“Okay Sam-” you begin, but already he’s shaking his head.  
“Nope-”  
“Sam, when it’s your turn-”  
“No-”  
“I’ll make you a deal-”  
“No way, Y/N-”  
_“Sam-”_  
“No, once you are mine you are toast,” he promises.

You freeze, breath high, unsure of how to manage all the promise and excitement of it, and the simmering anticipation in his face.

You lick your lips and cross your arms across your body, collecting the hem of your top. “Maybe… _think_ about it?” you ask, offering a little something now.

He smirks, friendly but confident, and gives way too easily for you to believe him. “I’ll think about it.”

You lift your top off, dropping it beside the bed. His smirk eases a little as he takes in all the curves of you around the lace. “Such bullshit,” you mutter, and both of you beam at each other as his chest bounces with quiet laughter.

“So, where was I?” you tease, shuffling back once more. Your knees and butt are now resting against his legs after the wrestle and he quickly becomes more serious, his chest rising and falling tightly.

You get your fingers into the waistband of his briefs and track pants and ask “Okay?” before moving anything.

“If you want,” he nods.

“Yes please,” you answer quietly and lean up so he can lift himself, letting you work the elastic past his butt and down his thighs. You slide your hands back up to his hips bones, where the hair stops and the soft skin dips and pales, the inners thighs all milky. “Sam I see nothing soft here.”

He huffs a laugh as he watches you, but you make him flinch again with “Oh, hang on…”

Quickly you lean down and kiss the dip at the top of his leg, ignoring his bobbing cock even though you could rub your cheek against it as you tongue at him. He tenses slightly and halting hums come from the pillow. You tongue and lap down the crease of the joint, into the musky warmth beside his sac and nuzzle him there.

You hear him break breath past his lips and suck in some air. “That’s… so nice, Y/N,” he says quietly.

You push his pants down further, past his knees, so he can work his legs free a little and part them. As you flatten yourself to get under his balls, you press your body against his legs and feel him work side to side across your breasts a little.

“You have some giving patches here,” you report working your nudges and kisses to the other side. “But this is different to me. Shall I show you how I’m different?”

“Yeah,” Sam consents. “I don’t know what you mean, but show me whatever you want.”

“The obvious parts on me are pretty symmetrical,” you explain, “one on each side.” You open your mouth wide to collect a ball with your lips and let it fall into your mouth, listening to Sam suck his teeth and moan _Uh Jesus_ as you roll him in your warmth. You massage it for a while, then do the same with the other side, tonguing it gently while it’s inside your mouth. His legs twitch and lift slightly as he makes aching noises above you. You let it go, the cool wetness making his sac tighten and reveal what’s below.

“On me, there’s bone behind this, but the centre is very soft.” You lick from his perineum up the seam of his sac and stop at the base of his cock, the length of it leading your gaze to his sighing chin. “In fact, on me, you’re going to find that this is the softest and wettest place I have, besides my mouth.” You kiss him under the balls again saying “Right here,” then tongue and suck the firmness that seems like the root of his erection.

“Oh, _fuck_ , Y/N,” he gasps, beginning to lift his knees and curl as you strengthen the suckle.

“But you’re not that wet, Sam. Not yet,” and you lick a stripe all the way from that shadowy depth, up the seam again, and up the ridge of his cock, stilling the top of your tongue on the salty slit where the nerves have swollen so sensitively, and tip your head over to collect him with your mouth.

Sam gasps and moans and you pause, your lips rimming the head, then pulse a little there, minutely pulling and pushing a few times with his breath, listening to him control his noises. When you stop and wait, he puffs, and you look up at him to see his eyes shut tight, arms and neck beginning to fight his grip. As soon as his shoulders seem to relax, you swirl your tongue around him and watch his body respond. After a few seconds he peeks at you, and you loosely wrap you fingers around the base so you can nibble the silky skin around the ridge.

“Ah, shit I can’t look,” he says grimacing. “Fuck, I can’t look when I can’t touch you.”

You smile a little, but ignore the comment. _Play on!_ “I’m not sure I can make you as wet as I am,” you say, “but I’ll try.” You drop your mouth over him, and hear him softly swear.

Bobbing a few times, letting your lips slip up and down around his shaft while your hand moves in time below you. You cup his balls warmly and move them with you by millimetres. He soon takes up a rhythm - his short moans now narrating your actions, hips meeting you when you drop – and when he urges your speed and the noises stop altogether, you ease off and slow, sliding your fingertips over his hair and puckery skin as you let him go.

You sit back and look over him, his puffing torso setting off the sheen that’s begun and the high colour in his chest and cheeks.

‘I’m gonna need a minute,” he says, eyes still closed.

“Okay,” you answer and pat his stomach a while before getting off him to stand by the bed.


	14. For you

Climbing off Sam makes him open his eyes, his hands still dutifully laced behind his head, only to see you undo your jeans and start to work them down.

“That isn’t helping!” he whines. “Damn I wanted to do that.”

“Sorry,” you shrug happily. You decide to leave your underwear on for him, just in case. “Next time.”

“Yeah,” he sighs absently, distracted by you kneeling either side of him and leaning your hands in the gap between his shoulders and wrists.

“You’re very good to keep your hands still for so long,” you praise. “What would you like as a reward?”

“Permission to move them?”

You take a minute to look at him from this height. His clear brow looking up at you, all that tan and warm colour, his bitten lips and sharp dimples… you can hardly believe he wants to be here, doing this, with you. “Granted,” you say, ready to give up whatever flimsy upper hand you thought you had, and brace yourself.

But he does nothing. Nothing big, anyway. He stretches a little, settling into his position and rolling his shoulders a bit, even as his hands still sit between his head and the pillow. Lordy, the whole gesture is like each muscle is singing _Look at me!!_ You can’t even remember if you kept your eyes on his.

“Next time, I’m going to be in charge of getting you naked, but for now… take off your bra,” he instructs. “Please.”

You slowly sit back on your heels so you don’t squash him. You were sure your pulse couldn’t be any faster, but now, rather than rattling your limbs, it’s throbbing up and down your body, thumping your ribs like your blood cannot, cannot wait for whatever is next.

You reach back and undo the clasp, shrug off the cups and drop the bra over the edge. He glances down and bites back the smile. You’re tempted to roll your eyes before he cuts you off with “Panties too.”

Climbing off him again and standing by the bed, you try to do it slowly, not having stripped for anyone in a long time, nor, for that matter, heard someone this hot say panties.

He watches the lace slide over your curves and reveal the creases and curls beneath. His smile slips away as the want washes over him. You get yourself over him again, but sit yourself back on his thighs. You feel the hairy muscles flex under your as he sits up, pulling off his shirt and reaching for your head and kissing you, hard, open and wanting, just short of frantic. You moan in surprise, the heady effect of it no weaker since yesterday, and he hums back as if to agree.

It doesn’t compare, though, to the feeling of his hot smooth skin against yours and how you can surf your fingers over all of it at once, scars, scratches, patches and all, from side-burn to snail-trail and hip to hairline… it reminds you of indulgence, but far more decadent. Ice cream tubs to yourself; unsupervised empty days; the first drink of a big night out… now all lowly, flimsy, peasantish distractions. Because _The Entire Man of Sam is Around You._

Your breasts are pressed against him and his arms and shoulders around you are near overwhelming. Then he gathers your hair with his hands, cupping your head while he kisses and presses you against him, moaning “God… Y/N”. Your eyes are closed but - _sweet Christ on a unicorn, **this kiss**_ \- you still feel them roll back.

With a large, tight hand on your back he falls back down, somehow keeping you from bumping together when you drop, and pulls you to his body so firmly you feel smeared against the muscle, his erection almost painfully trapped between your hips.

He seems to work you up and down as his kiss moves, his hands rocking you over him, and you spread your legs to tilt and roll your hips, giving him some wet friction. He grunts in surprise and sits up again, leading you back to sit on the bed as your kisses lap at each other.

Only momentarily do you notice he’s collecting your wrists in front of your chest. “Sam?” you say, curious and warning.

“Toast,” he answers. Then he’s pulled them above your head, grabbed an ankle and pinned your closer leg with his own.

“Sam! _No!”_ you cry and try desperately to fold yourself as he stretches you long to expose your waist. He puts his teeth – all of them apparently – on your ribs, licking and laughing as you squirm beneath him, probably making it much worse than it should be, listening to you yell, “No Sam!! No-ho-ho-ho!”

His arm span easily trumps your length enough to hold you taught - “Yes-yes,” he says. “Mmmm, toast…” - while he attacks your ribs with bites and nibbles. You thrash and plead on your side, ugly-laughing, delighted and near breathless - “Sa–hh-hh!! St-hh-hh-! (gasp) Nnnh-h-h!” - and he rests his elbow on the bed so he can fold your arms and hold your wrists behind your head. He’s loving attacking you, laughing as he makes you buck and gasp. Finally, you latch onto his bicep and bite, making him swear “Ah! Fuck!”

“Stop!” you wheeze, burying your face in the crook of his arm.

Instantly he moves his face down to your waist and begins nuzzling the dipping curve, relaxing some and letting you writhe a little while he still holds you. You puff and take the chance to figure out what’s where. Your lower leg is still pinned under him, the front of his ankle over your calf, and the grip on your other leg is vice-like.

“Fuck Sam,” you whine, “where’s your mercy?”

“Hmm-hmm,” he laughs thoughtfully. “That was mercy.”

“No, I showed mercy,” you correct. “You were plain devilish.”

“Hehe, yeah…”

He nudges you onto your back, both hands easing and adjusting their hold a little, and moves his attention up your body, soon pressing his cheek around your breast, his kisses still shallow from a cheeky smile.

Sam hums against you and you hum back, your voice breaking out as he laps at your nipple, sucking, pinching a bit, then tugging while he watches you roll your body, frowning and gasping at how good it feels. He shifts to the other one, the shape of them pulled long with your elbows above your head, and tests the tip with his tongue to see what you think. You think it’s pretty perfect.

He kisses you, like before, landing on your open mouth hungrily and generously, mumbling “I’m never going to get sick of watching that.”

He kisses down your chin, nudging it up to mouth and lick at your throat and in the dip, and heads for your belly button. His hair tickles your skin and suddenly you want to get your fingers in there to give something back. You ask “Can I have my hands?”

“Not yet,” he says and sucks on your navel.

You breathe deeply and try to relax, realising that with your leg turned out you feel rather exposed.

“You have a lot of soft places, Y/N,” Sam says, his warm breath and low tone making you shiver and goosepimple. “But they’re not as soft as you think they are… There’s a lot of muscle on you.”

“I’ve taken up some resistance training,” you remark.

“Yeah?” he smiles into the dip of your hip and kisses. You tense against the tickle again and his grip on your ankle tightens. “How’s that going?”

“I like it,” you reply. “More cardio than I expected.”

His laugh is breathy and his chin is beginning to brush against your hair down there. You work on not getting too nervous.

He presses his mouth against your labia, nudging and moving gently, letting you feel him there a while before he does anything and does a quick check - “You okay?” “Yeah I’m good, Sam.” He nudges again and the pressure pushes into your clit, waiting beneath all the flesh, making you twitch slightly.

You think you hear him say “-like you did,” and you _Hmmm?_ in response. Then Sam starts to mimic your routine from earlier and you quickly understand what’s coming. He slips his tongue between your lips and collects one side in his mouth, sucking and toothlessly gnawing.

“Oh, shit Sam,” you whisper, rolling your hips as slightly as you can manage.

He hums in reply and works on the flesh, his tongue nudging your inner lips and nerves every time he gently regathers the hold, sucking and working it into his mouth. He moves towards the top, then slides down to collect the other side. He lets his nose get wet between the folds, even pulls gently and stops for a moment to say “Keep your hands there,” before letting your wrists go and sliding his forearm under your waist.

You lace your fingers behind your head, locking your knuckles and telling yourself to hold on tight. Sam’s breath envelops your vulva and he puts his mouth, open and hot, over both lips, sucking them into his mouth, clit and all, and starts working his jaw. You arch and gasp, your voice sliding high when you say “Oh God! Fuck! Saaam!!” Your noises keep coming as he sucks hard and tongues at you, slipping the tip between the folds to tickle your clitoris in the tightness.

He lets go of your ankle and begins firmly sliding his hand up your leg. You sigh and breathe deeply, feeling like it should relax you but it doesn’t because he still has all your softness in his mouth and the whole thing is working on so much more than the nub.

When his hand gets to your thigh, his wide grip reaching over your cheek, he releases you from his mouth and shifts himself between your legs. You sigh for the break and lift your knees a little, wiggling your hips. He moves his arms under your legs and butt so that his hands hold your waist low, thumbs over the rise of your hip bones, and nudges his shoulders into your thighs to widen them.

By now your hands have slipped down to your neck, thanks to the pull of your elbows. He drops his head down, sucking widely on your core, dipping his tongue, and your knuckles pop apart as you cry out, your fingers hooking on to the muscle by your neck as you lean towards him.

He moves back up, your swollen lips having fallen heavy and open, and holds your hips tighter as he tips, flicks and pinches your exposed clit. You wrap your legs around him, “Je-sus-Sam!” and start to buck with “Sam, _Sam!”_ He takes your pleading to heart, and puts two fingers under his chin to drag them down to your entrance, the movement steady, firm and unbreaking as they slide into you and pump in and out.

You’re moaning now, your throat open and aching on each thrust. Your pitch jumps and your jaw drops further when he brushes against your g-spot. He repeats the sensation over and over, giving you some time with this pleasure. Then he pulls your clit between his lips and sucks as he rubs inside you and you lose it, your voice breaking as you cry out desperately and let go of your neck to snatch at the comforter.

Sam withdraws his fingers and lifts his head, wrapping his hand over your wetness with the heel of his palm against your core to gently roll pressure against you, mimicking your body’s pulsing waves as you come down from the orgasm. He patiently kisses your thigh and belly, waiting for you to relax before getting off the bed and finding a condom.


	15. For everyone!

When he thinks you’ve calmed down enough to talk, he asks “What happened to keeping your hands still?”

“They were in the vicinity,” you mumble, eyes still closed. You rub your knees together while you wait for him, noticing how you’re cooling from a light layer of sweat.

“Hey I think I found that soft wet place you were talking about,” he says, climbing over to cage you with his hands and knees, all bright eyed and sultry.

“That’s me, Sam,” you say, letting your body fall slack for a moment while you look up at him, that smile you imagined last night. “I am now the soft wet patch.”

He chuckles a bit and lowers himself to kiss your lips, your hands catching his head and shoulders as he lays himself on you. His hot length is delicious against your body, even the slightly slippery rubber-clad part, and you undulate beneath him as much as possible while his legs are outside yours and pinning you closed.

He takes his time here, kissing over your cheek and collecting your earlobe with his tongue – humming at the wish he made in the tent that night. He remembers all of it, the whole blue-grey privilege of being allowed to watch you sleep. You don’t know it but as he leads you to turn your head and flattens himself to kiss and lick under your jaw, he does it watching your eyelashes and cheekbone, the serene curve of your lips, the way your breathe in because of him, and his eyes are smiling at being able to get it in full colour with your smell and warmth and happiness.

“Let me know when you want the next part,” he says, licking and nibbling around your collar bone. You slide your fingertips up his scalp. He shivers all over from it and squeezes with his hands.

“Whenever you’re ready,” you sigh.

He lifts his head, watching you as he slides his body in place and threads his cock into the crux of your groin and thighs. He pushes the tip between the lips - which feels gorgeous - angling it down and moving it back until he detects the giving softness beyond the bone. Then he tilts and pushes into you, his pelvis and thighs pressing against yours. Both of you are awake and locked in your gaze, but your minds are entirely taken with the sensation of him moving into you.

He pushes the as far as he can, his chest filling with it. Instinctively you trying to spread your legs and give for his thickness, but his own hold you tight. So, instead of the moan and sigh you expected, you’re gasping and gripping his hair tight in your fingers as you close your eyes to feel the sweet pressure of him.

He kisses you and waits a moment. His fingers press into your shoulder where his forearm is under you and he brushes his fingers through your hair while he takes a moment.

“Ugh Sam,” you say against his mouth, “you feel so good… It’s just…”

“What?” he says, kissing your lips and cheek.

“I want you to move but I don’t want you to go.”

He smiles a bit, saying “Mmmm, know what you mean… you’re so hot… and snug.” He starts to rock against you. “I’m so glad I got you here.”

“Mmmm, me too,” you say, adjusting your hold on him as his movement starts to rock you against the bed. “You got me so good.”

He kisses you again, muffling your noises as he starts to move in and out of you, every drag of his cock tickling your lips and pussy, his bone bumping your clit.

“Y/N,” Sam says, his voice raspy but firm. “Tell me what you want.”

“Ugh God…,” you answer, distracted by the pull and push of him, “This is so good.”

“What else?” he demands. “What else feels good?”

“I’d like it if you fucked me,” you confess, kissing his cheek and pulling his head down to nibble at his ear and neck.

“Mmm,” he pushes his head against yours before tilting, encouraging your lips. “Any particular way?”

You reach your head up for the skin and suck in the softness under his jaw. “Any way you like, Sam,” you say into his neck. “I feel like I’ve been missing you. Please just fuck me… fuck me.”

Sam thumps into you once, making you grunt, and stays there. He levers against you to get his legs between yours, spreads his knees to open you and grabs both shins to push your legs up and wide. He pulls back and thrusts back in, the sensation shooting up your body to your throat. With one hand holding your thigh in place, the other holds your head against his as he starts thumping into you, all thickness and depth, bones and hardness. You scramble to get a handle on the change, feeling your pussy brilliantly pushed apart and a new effervescence building.

For a few seconds the sounds are all smack and breath as he gets faster. “Y/N,” he says, either a warning or plea, but you helplessly reply with “Sam, yeah, please,” and hold on tighter.

He reaches between you and finds your clit, letting his action move him lightly against the tip. Immediately you react with “Ah God Sam!!” and he falters, his hips doubling up once, then twice. His finger slips and presses hard against you, back and forth, sending jolts of electricity into your pussy, and you near scream as the next orgasm bursts, pulling on everything. Sam fucks just twice more, punching out a loud moan, his teeth latching onto your neck muscles, and you grasp at each other while your orgasms hijack everything else, your bodies bucking automatically.

You tremble and thrum and Sam’s chest heaves on you. His hair sticks to your neck and chin.

Slowly, he starts to move, kissing up your throat and stopping at your lips, both of you still puffing into each other. You let your legs fall against the bed and haltingly run your hands up and down his back, over the horizon of his shoulders, brushing is hair. As your bodies start to work again, you begin to hug and caress, kissing with short hums, and the whole thing ends with Sam’s arms under you and yours around his shoulders as you kiss and smile at each other.

He moves away, cleaning up and helping you from the bed to turn back the covers and lay down together. He arranges you to face him, bellies pressed and legs entwined, and cups your jaw to kiss you again.

“You still okay with moving fast?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you smile and nod in his hold. “Doesn’t feel scary at all. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” - he laughs with you - “but it feels good. Not risky.”

“Good,” he says firmly, kissing you back. “Me too.” His affection, you think, is going to become your next food group.

“So this is your room,” you say, lifting you head to look around. “It really does have walls.”

Sam smiles at you and strokes your arm. “Yeah, state of the art.”

“Can I show you my room later?” you ask and lean up to kiss.

“I would like that,” he says.

“I’ll show you how I like to use my walls.”

He sucks a deep breath through his teeth, a smile growing in anticipation. “How do you like to use your walls?”

“Well, I haven’t really tested them yet,” you answer.

“Tell me how you want to test them.”

 _Holy crap already:_ his voice is gives a question but his gaze is demanding. You reach up with both hands to hold him while you kiss, buying some time.

“I know you’re thinking it, Y/N,” he says against your lips. “Tell me what you’re imagining… please.”

You have to close your eyes to do it, but you do, with your forehead pressed to his mouth. “With you between my legs… me wrapped around you…”

“Say all of it,” he whispers.

 _Deep breath…_ “Your hand behind my hips to cushion me, the other under my ass, and maybe your fingertips can feel you moving in and out,… and then I could get at your back, probably scratch the shit out of it. God, I’d be loud - Sam, Fuck, the reach of you! I can feel your cock push all the w- ”

“Okay, regret! Abort!-”

“What?-”

“’S too much,” he leans away and shakes his head. “Shit, I had no idea you would say something that hot,” he says, then goes sideways into a joke. _“Not now, Y/N!”_

“No?” you ask innocently as he re-wraps you into his chest.

“No, _God no,_ what were you thinking. Get some rest,” he mock-scolds. “Fuck.”

“Okay… sorry,” you say meekly, and grin against him.

A few breaths pass….

“…Fingertips.”

“Mmm.”

“…Jesus.”

“Sound good though?”

He holds you close, pressing the next kiss into your hair, happy eyes and strong fingers, mumbling “God yes,” and lets you snuggle into a nap.


End file.
